


Out of the Dark

by Schwoozie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Genderbending, Caretaking, F/M, Friendship, One Shot, Sharing a Bed, on the road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya is too stubborn for her own good, but Gendry can tell there's something more beneath it. He gives what little comfort he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Day 9 of 30 Days of Writing challenge
> 
> prompt: move

Arya always slept curled against him, since the day they met. She had been Arry then, a skinny boy with an old man’s eyes, skittish and silent like a savaged dog. Gendry must have seen something of himself in the boy’s solitude, or else he just needed a friend, pathetic as this one was - so when he saw the fire alight and the stance shift into a semblance of deadly yet wobbly grace, scaring the piss into the fat boy’s pants, he knew he’d do best to keep this one close.

It still shocked him, though, that the bit of kindness he had given through his size and stature won the boy’s allegiance so quickly. It worried him that a creature so clearly hunted would trust another so quickly and for so simple a thing - an act that had served Gendry more than it had the boy; he had never had cause to feel powerful in his life, and even if his only conquest was a sack of blubber, it was better than silent steel - it was a beginning, and as such beginnings went, he found they made strange bedfellows.

“How did you get so big?”

He turned from laying out his cloak as a makeshift bedroll to see the boy crouched on his haunches, skinny arms around skinny knees, watching him. His brows were furrowed in what would become a familiar sight, demanding an explanation whether freely offered or not.

“The way most do, I’d think - I worked at it.”

“I’ll work, but I doubt I’d get much bigger,” the boy grumbled.

“What, a gutter rat like you? Maybe under all that dirt you’re big already.”

“Not big enough.” Arry laid his chin on crossed arms and scowled at the fire. “One day I’ll be strong. And no one will take anything from me ever again.”

Gendry frowned at the sack of rags in front of him. The boy could easily have reached this miserable state through some misfortune - the Seven knew what prowled the streets of Kings Landing at night - but somehow he thought that wasn’t what he meant.

“C’mon,” he said, “where’s your bedroll? You ought to lay out before all the good spots are taken.”

“I don’t have one,” Arry said.

“What, not even a cloak? Yoren had dozens on his wagon.”

Arry shrugged. “I wasn’t cold.”

Gendry huffed and rolled his eyes. “You’ll  _get_  cold once night falls and the wee wigglies are scrambling at your back.” He gestured to his bedding. “There’s room ‘nough for two, especially when one’s as skinny as you are.”

“I’m fine,” Arry snapped. 

“A’right then,” Gendry shrugged. He lay down and wrapped himself in the thread-bare cloak. _Being without it wouldn’t make much difference_ , he thought, but at least the twigs and stones were blunted. He settled himself and wiggled exaggeratedly, humming loudly in pleasure.

“Hmm, now there’s a comfort. Shame to those who can’t sleep so cozy as thi-ow!” he exclaimed as a sharp finger jabbed him in the side.

“Scoot over,” Arry commanded, in a voice that seemed used to being obeyed. He looked at him over his shoulder, blinking in mock dumbness.

“It ain’t sweet to disturb a man once he’s been settled. I did give you a chance.”

“You aren’t so big I can’t slit your throat as you sleep. Let me in.”

Gendry would have chuckled at the boy’s bravado, but the change of the last few words held him back. He was reminded, quite suddenly, that this boy couldn’t be beyond two-and-ten. He remembered himself at that age, still a year off from apprenticeship, selling wooden carvings off a stoop in the market. There were times he thought himself brave, but when the Gold Cloaks came with their whiskey breath and empty wallets, he handed his coins over silently. With Master Mott came both his muscles and his manhood, and he swore he would never be a victim again. But at twelve, he never could have seen that day, just as Arry could not see beyond his own shaking limbs, wishing they could be stolid and strong as oak. For all his scowls and snapping words, Arry was a lost child, running from something to a somewhere nary a man hoped to go. Gendry had never had a friend before, nor a brother, but if he did he could do worse than Arry.

“Well, get in then,” he said, flipping a fold of cloak back. Arry settled without a word, curling against Gendry’s back so only a few of their vertebrae touched. After a few minutes, however, the boy began to relax, and pressed himself back more firmly, chasing body heat or companionship or whatever was required on this cold night. 

Gendry looked out at the darkening sky, and for the first time in many years, felt content.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the lyrics of Missy Higgins's "Warm Whispers."


End file.
